


Sticky

by missbeizy



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not a fucking pecan," Dom insists, toppling forward, oblivious to the rug burn that reddens his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky

"It's not a fucking pecan," Dom insists, toppling forward, oblivious to the rug burn that reddens his knees. That Billy realize the strange circular _thing_ in their ice cream is not a pecan is suddenly and inexplicably very, very important. Barring the pecan spontaneously morphing into a cinnamon-encrusted pecan, things couldn't get much worse. Do cinnamon-flavored pecans exist? They would probably taste awful, Dom thinks. And as he is a fan of both separately he has the right to frown upon their hypothetical union, if he so chooses. Naturally. _Of course._

"Dom," Billy barks, jabbing at him. "You're dripping on me."

"I've lost my thought," he whines, and plops dejectedly back on his arse. "You owe me a thought."

"I would like to go spelunking." 

"Oh my God, that word is fucking fantastic. You are fucking _forgiven_."

Billy's cheek is covered in melted ice cream. "And a touch sticky."

"It occurs to me that one shouldn't be sticky when spelu--spelk--spe-- _fuck_!"

"My word _rejects_ you, Monaghan."

"I am very high," Dom replies. Which is an explanation that makes perfect sense. Then again, he is too busy contemplating Billy covered in ice cream and exploring caves naked to really mind his thought process.

"We must praise all the heathen gods--each individually and possibly with alcohol--for the shift of nature--or what have you--that blessed us with a fucking week off."

"Not so loud!" Billy stage whispers, clapping a sticky hand over Dom's mouth. "They might be listening."

"Mm, vanilla," Dom says, but the words come out more like _mm'r'nya_. Billy giggles. His palm tastes like carpet and ice cream. "More ice cream," Dom declares, lifting the half-gallon and spooning huge globs between his lips. "Wager I could fit more in my mouth than you at one time."

Billy snorts. "That is the sound of no one disagreeing with you. Well. That is the sound of my derision, which is more or less the same thing."

"Fucker." Ice cream flies between them, landing on Billy's arm. There is a flail and a curse and a bare foot to Dom's side, all of which manages to make the mess worse. "Fuck's sake, stop wriggling about." Dom licks Billy's forearm, tongue tickling the hairs and making them stick the opposite way. "Still good."

"You're disgusting," Billy says, sitting back on his hands. He looks sleepy to Dom, who is now seriously regretting his mission to cram the rest of the ice cream into his mouth at once. He faceplants into Billy's arm, and gnaws, teeth aching. "Ow." 

Billy raises a single eyebrow. "Quit it."

"The ice cream is Bill-flavored." 

The heathen gods have also, apparently, gifted Dom with extra brain cells to compensate for the ones the weed has killed. _Huzzah_ , thinks Dom, as he leaves thoughtless teeth marks on Billy's arm, and most certainly does not voice the thought that Bill-flavor is quite nice.

Billy slides onto his back, disturbing a messy pile of junk until he encounters carpet that isn't sticky with melted, ground-in ice cream. 

Dom squints. He's freezing and sticky and his clothes have ridden up all over, but that's all just fine. This is okay. Billy is okay and he is okay and life is a bit of all right in general. 

"This is fucking incredible."

"It is," Billy replies. "You've got a set of teeth on you, mate."

Dom lets ice cream tub slide sideways, off of his leg. "Piss off. I meant _this life_."

It's not as if they don't wax philosophical about This Amazing Life every time they get drunk. 

It's not as if they don't forget doing so, and feel the need to repeat said waxing every _time_ they get drunk.

"Yes," Billy says, closing his eyes. "Yes."

Which is apparently Dom's cue to lick his fingers. There is a connection here somewhere. One day, Dom will figure it out. 

One day, when he's not sucking Billy's fingers.

Billy, sleepier by the second, merely watches. He begins to say, "You really are vile," but what comes out instead is, "Ergff." Which could mean anything. He moves his wrist away but all that does, really, is give Dom a better angle at which to nibble. And Dom, equally woozy and still mildly high, sucks half of Billy's middle finger between his lips.

Laughing, Billy presses Dom's nose. "Will you remember these attempts to consume me in the morning, one wonders." 

And then Dom kisses Billy's palm. A predictable _what the fuck_ expression lights Billy's face. Dom knows that look well. He can off-hand list a dozen situations that summon it up on a regular basis. _Dom kissing on me_ could very well be on that list. Near the bottom, just above "edible pants" and below "disco music".

"Steady on," Billy says. 

Phrases flit across the surface of Dom's brain-- _it's not like we_ , and _just us, right_ , and _taking the mickey_. He's squashing Billy's legs, no doubt about it, but how did his body get lodged over Billy's to begin with? How did they get here? How did they have the coordination to order, pay for, and consume all that food? 

How did they get from North Island to South Island? 

What made Peter look at their audition tapes and announce _Merry, Pippin_? How was he able to picture them together before they saw each other at all? How is it possible that there was once a time when Dom didn't know the name _Billy Boyd_ and Billy didn't know the name _Dominic Monaghan_? 

He could go back, stopping only at birth and yet still managing to ponder it, because isn't it mad that there was also a time when Billy was on this earth and he was not? It doesn't seem acceptable. It doesn't seem probable. It is not right.

Dom folds him up into a messy embrace. "You're my favorite. You know that, yeah?"

Billy squeezes back. "Aw, go on."

"I mean it," Dom says, very carefully, as if to say, _I will remember trying to consume you, I promise. As a matter of fact, I swear on the grave of my aunt's brother's cousin thrice removed that I will remember_. "You have ice cream up your nose."

"Your doing, you lunatic." Billy swipes at his nose. "And don't you dare start licking my nostrils. I draw the line at nostril-licking."

"What's'at called, then? I'll lick that, instead," Dom crosses his eyes and stares, not a breath away from the dimple between Billy's mouth and nose. "That wee little--"

"I don't know."

"I claim it in the name of Monaghania. Monaghanastan? Monaghanolia." He kisses the spot with a loud smack. "You are now a colony. The Prime Minister demands tribute."

Billy bends, drawing Dom in until they're a warm, stuffy mess of eyes, noses, and mouths. "You'll have to accept our women, for we are a poor people."

Dom giggles, sliding lower. He inhales Billy's exhale. "Throw in a few strapping young men, and we'll be done with it."

"Got to have it all, don't you." Their hips fit together easily. Dom tucks his face against Billy's, offering a sleepy sigh. 

"Yes," he says, "and a bit more, for the road. Bill." 

Billy kisses him. He doesn't know why, or for what purpose, because he was supposed to do it, wasn't he; he's been flirting for all these hours, hasn't he been?

"Bill," he repeats.

"You're my favorite, too," Billy says. His face is on fire, burning Dom's cheek. He laughs nervously, mutters, "Fuck," and then turns his face into Dom's waiting mouth. 

It's only when Billy's tongue darts to find his that Dom thinks at all and his thought is, _snogging is very nice_ , and that's about as coherent as it gets, honestly. 

Billy is obviously trying hard to kiss as if he weren't high and half-asleep and inexperienced with bloke-kissing but he's rather over-thinking it and more or less sucking Dom's lips off. Which is just fine, because. Because. _Bill._

"I can't feel my lips," Dom announces, and breaks them apart. "Oh, hiya." When had his hips slid between Billy's knees, anyway?

"Don't stop," Billy mutters, warm and squashed because his mouth is on Dom's neck before Dom can brush this all off as drug-induced intimacy. A rush of excitement threads downward and pools, two steps ahead of Billy, who grabs Dom's hip and grinds their bodies together.

 _Fuck_.

"Wait a tick," Dom mumbles, feeling dizzy from leaning over Billy's body. He shifts lower, waits for the wave to pass, and manages to get a hand between them, shifting clothing down hips. Heat follows--the oddly satisfying sensation of a cock against his. They begin to slowly hump against each other. The motion is graceless and single-minded.

So simple, really, so fucking perfect, the ability to just--with a bit of friction, with Billy's calves around the back of his knees, with the slow swivel of hips and the expert pinning of their erections against bellies-- _get there_. So easy to lose minutes, to forget everything but pressure and rubbing.

Twitching and close, Dom curls a hand around them both. Billy inhales suddenly, chest and neck and cheeks twitching with it; Dom is transfixed for the second it takes Billy to relax again. Not for long, naturally, as Dom rocks, jerks, and squeezes them right over the edge. His back slumps when he comes and he buries his face against Billy's heaving chest. Billy follows a minute later, grabbing at Dom with the clasp of his legs and his right hand, back arched off the rug.

"Oi, watch--" Billy warns, out of breath.

Though that was very nice, there really is no reason to mash that mess between them. Dom grunts his thanks and slides off to Billy's side, barely paying attention as the shirt is removed and tossed away.

They lay in silence, watching the ceiling, until Billy cracks up. Dom smirks, closing his eyes.

What's left of the ice cream melts peacefully into the carpet.


End file.
